Oh, Tannenbaum
by HousePiglet
Summary: Christmas fluff! Wilson chooses a Christmas tree, House decorates it and Cuddy brings a baby to Christmas dinner! Mildest of House/Wilson slash, and fluffy in the extreme. No spoilers. Set in an altogether happier AU sort of place.


"They're over there against the wall. Frasers on the left, Douglas in the middle and Balsams on the right. Call me when you're ready, and I'll come over and wrap it for you." The young man waved an arm towards what remained of the Christmas trees, and tucked his chin down into his collar as he turned and made his way back towards the barn.

"Thanks," said Wilson, jamming his hands deeper into his pockets and starting to pick his way carefully across the snow-covered grass.

Four o'clock on Christmas Eve was a little late to be collecting a tree. Normally Wilson had one chosen and decorated at least a couple of days in advance, but Christmas chaos had started early at the hospital this year. Between juggling his normal caseload, and squeezing in extra Clinic hours to help out with the annual pre Christmas flu epidemic, Wilson hadn't left his office before 8 o'clock all week, and it had been almost two before he'd been able to get away that afternoon.

He'd picked up the turkey and finished the vegetable shopping, and he'd been half-way to House's apartment before he'd remembered the tree. For a moment he'd been tempted to leave it, but then he'd remembered the farm near the Country Club, and so he'd turned onto Brunswick Pike instead, and headed out towards Trenton.

The ground approaching the wall was thickly strewn with needles, and as he drew near to the trees the familiar scent of pine resin rose through the icy air to remind Wilson why he'd made the effort. Closer still, a carpet of twigs and broken branches was testament to the hordes who'd been there before him, but he was relieved to find that there was still plenty of choice for the last-minute stragglers.

Arriving at the trees Wilson turned his back to the blizzard, and embarked upon the process of selection. Ten minutes later he'd almost settled on a neat little Fraser fir when at the end of the row he suddenly spotted a slightly taller tree, standing a little apart from the others. There was nothing neat about it, and as Wilson walked across to take a closer look he realised it was leaning against the wall, rather than standing, like the others, in a pot.

The tree was lopsided, and mildly dishevelled, and, as he approached it, it looked to Wilson as though one of the bottom branches was missing. Closer inspection revealed that the branch _wasn't_ missing, though. It was still there, but broken, and hanging from the trunk by a slender strip of bark. And despite the damage it was still an attractive tree; tall and straight, with thick, dusky blue foliage, and a profusion of sharp, slender needles.

Wilson bent down and tugged at the broken branch. It came away easily in his hand, and he lifted his fingers to his face and breathed deeply. His fingers were sticky and fragrant, and as he looked down at the trunk he saw resin beading thickly around the gash.

Straightening, Wilson contemplated the tree. Maimed as it was, it seemed unlikely that anyone would take it now, and for reasons that were not entirely clear to him he found the prospect of its abandonment unsettling. He looked across at the neat little Fraser fir, and then turned back to the scruffy, broken tree. A moment later, and feeling faintly ridiculous, he pushed his hands back into his pockets and set off in the direction of the barn.

-- ----- --

An hour later Wilson was kneeling under the tree in House's living room, attempting to settle it into a pot. He'd been there for some time, and as the mission had continued he'd become progressively less visible, as his head, his shoulders and finally his lower body had disappeared beneath the lower branches. House sat with his feet up on the coffee table, issuing instructions and directing operations with his cane.

The tree shifted suddenly on its axis, and House heard Wilson swearing quietly to himself. "Wanna beer?" he asked, helpfully, pushing himself out of his seat and walking across to the kitchen. "If you're planning to spend the night down there you should take on some fluids first."

Wilson replied, but his words were lost in their journey through the branches. The tone was clearly affirmative, though, and so House leaned into the fridge and withdrew a couple of bottles. Then he turned and carried them back to the couch.

"C'mon, Wilson. Hurry up, will you!" he said, twisting off the tops and placing the bottles on the coffee table. "I could die of malnutrition out here."

"I think that's it," Wilson said, finally, ignoring House's complaints and beginning to wriggle out backwards from beneath the shaggy lower limbs.

He hadn't stopped to change when he'd got home, and as he stood up and turned towards House he was uncharacteristically grubby about the hands. His shirt had come out at the back, the knees of his dress pants were wrinkled and dusty, and his tie looked as though it had been sitting in the pot with the tree. Overall, he looked to House much more like the Jimmy of fifteen years earlier than the Wilson he'd become, with responsibility for one of the most highly respected oncology departments on the East coast.

Wilson subsided onto the couch and reached for his beer. "I'd have been a lot quicker if you'd been willing to do something more constructive than sit around telling me what to do," he said, frowning at House as he tipped his bottle back. House heard the smile in his voice, though, and as he joined Wilson on the couch he had to act quickly to stifle a smile of his own.

"Hey! _Cripple, _remember_?_" he said, with mock indignation. "And anyway, I was only thinking of you. Cuddy'd sue your ass off if I told her I'd injured myself dragging your tree around the apartment."

Wilson snorted. "She'd never believe it," he said. "Cuddy knows you better than you think. And it's not _my_ tree," he went on, a moment later. "I don't celebrate Christmas, remember? I only got it because you always complain if you don't have one."

House raised an eyebrow at this blatant untruth—they both knew Wilson enjoyed the Christmas tree just as much as he did—but he decided to let it pass, just this once.

Having failed in his attempt to bait House, Wilson returned to his beer, but as he lifted the bottle again he winced, and held up a finger. "I've got a splinter!" he said. "You really need to do something about that floor. It needs sanding."

House rolled his eyes, and then he reached over and took Wilson's fingers in his own. He lifted the hand, and inspected it closely. "You're worse than the kids in the Clinic," he said. "There's nothing there. Or if there is it's microscopic. I'll get Cameron to give you an anti tetanus next week, if that'll make you feel better. Or maybe you'd like Mom to kiss it better?" Then he kissed the finger gently, and lowered Wilson's hand to his knee.

Wilson grinned. "Actually, no. Mom's in Ft. Myers, with Dad." He leaned across to the table and put down his bottle, and then he sat back again and turned towards House. "And in any event, I'd rather you did it."

This time House didn't bother to conceal his own smile. "Finally, something we can agree on!" he said.

He shifted a little closer, and slipped his hands under the tail of Wilson's shirt. Wilson's skin was warm and soft, and House never tired of caressing it. He ran his hands lightly up Wilson's back, and then leaned forwards and placed a kiss on Wilson's forehead. "Any better yet?" he asked, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth.

Wilson's smile broadened. "It's still hurting," he said, moving his finger, experimentally. "I think you may have to try harder."

"Well okay, but you owe me dinner, and a week's worth of Clinic duty," House replied, indistinctly, as he bent his head towards Wilson's face and pressed his mouth to Wilson's lips.

-- ----- --

At eleven o'clock the following morning Wilson poked his head out of the kitchen and called across to House.

"Almost finished?" he asked. He'd put House to work decorating the tree an hour earlier, and—pacified with a beer, and a small bowl of smoked almonds—House had been surprisingly compliant.

House emerged from behind the tree, his features set in a grimace. "I'm never doing this for you again," he growled. "If you breathe a word about this to the team I'll tell them all about what you and Cuddy got up to at Anderson's party."

A look of confusion appeared on Wilson's face. "But I didn't _go_ to Anderson's party," he replied, uneasily.

"_Right_, but they don't know that."

As Wilson huffed, House turned back to the box of Christmas decorations. He pondered it for a few moments, and then he reached down, selected a large silver bauble and hung it carefully from one of the uppermost branches of the tree. After that he leaned back on his cane to survey his handiwork.

"I think I've managed to cover most of the damage," he said. "The tree's a _mess_, though. Couldn't you have got something a bit smarter? There's a big chunk missing underneath, and I've stabbed myself about twenty times on the needles. They're like razors!"

Wilson's lips twitched. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said. "It was a reject. The best I could find in a hurry. Anyway," he continued, as smoothly as he could, "you'd better try to finish up. Cuddy and Miriam will be here at twelve."

"Oh, God!" House dropped a pink bauble into the box and glared across at Wilson. The bauble shattered into a thousand pieces. "She's not bringing the baby, is she?"

Wilson raised a hand to the back of his neck, and attempted to look as though he wasn't quelling a grin. "Well Miriam's a little young to stay home and take care of herself," he responded, mildly. "You'd better get used to it, House. Cuddy comes with accessories now. Things change. People move on."

"Well I don't have to embrace their changes," House growled, again. He looked down at his watch. "Who's on Clinic duty this afternoon?" he asked. "I might just drive over and take a look. It's not fair to leave it all to the kids." Wilson spotted him sneaking a look from under half-closed eyelids, but he pretended not to notice and walked back to check on the turkey.

"Whatever you say, House," he replied, complacently. "I'm sure we won't miss you if you disappear for an hour or so."

An hour later, though, it was House who made his way over to the door when the bell rang.

"Just make sure she doesn't puke on the furniture," he said, shooting a malignant glare in the direction of the crib. "Wilson's dog's already tried to destroy the apartment once. She's not teething is she?" he added, suddenly, as Cuddy and the baby swept in. "Stay away from my cane," he instructed, bending toward the crib and fixing the baby with a commanding stare.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Miriam's a girl, House," she said, as she lifted her face to return House's kiss. "We don't do that sort of thing. Oh, and Merry Christmas to you too," she concluded, as she made her way across the living room towards Wilson.

-- ----- --

As House, Wilson and Cuddy settled down to unwrap their presents, overeat and make gurgly baby noises at Miriam, the Christmas tree observed them from the corner.

It preferred unconventional families, and as it relaxed in its pot it decided that the decision to break a branch had been a master stroke. Better to sacrifice one small branch to the watering can than lose half its needles and most of its decorations to a posse of screaming children, and yippery-yappery dogs. To say nothing of the indignity of having to suffer cats stretching their claws in its trunk.

The tree shuddered gently at the thought, but only Miriam noticed, and when she squealed, and raised an excited fist to point it out, only the tree guessed who she was pointing at.

The End (aaaahhh... :)


End file.
